


The Meaning Of The Word

by mrs_d



Series: Fingers Interlaced [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Fingering, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Mostly Gen, Polyamory, Rimming, Sam-Centric, Threesome - M/M/M, Triad relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-06 06:48:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6743818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_d/pseuds/mrs_d
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five snapshots of Sam, Steve, and Bucky's relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Heart Is Hard To Translate

**Author's Note:**

> The title and the chapter titles come from Florence + The Machine's "All This And Heaven Too."

Natasha’s laugh rang out from the kitchen, but Bucky didn’t even pause — he just got louder and more animated as Natasha wheezed.

“Must be a really funny story,” Sam commented.

“Must be,” Steve agreed.

They were on the couch, waiting for the Russian chefs to announce that dinner was ready. Sam had a glass of red wine on the coffee table, while Steve had a scotch and soda — combined with a few drops of Asgardian liquor — but neither of them were drinking. Sam turned, lifting his legs to rest his feet in Steve’s lap, and Steve started rubbing Sam’s ankles, running his fingers up and down the legs of his jeans. His hands were as warm and welcome as ever.

“Do you ever wonder if they’re talking about us?” Sam asked curiously.

“I used to,” Steve admitted. “It used to bother me, not knowing what they were saying. Plus, Bucky speaking another language so fluently — that still takes some getting used to.”

Sam could smell an old man story coming, not that he minded. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

Steve shrugged. “Bucky was never any good at languages. He always liked numbers and science.” He chuckled. “Well, until the eighth grade, anyway.”

“What happened in the eighth grade?” Sam asked, leaning back and getting more comfortable with his head against the armrest.

“He dropped out of school, got a job at a factory.”

“At thirteen?”

Steve shrugged again. “He lied about his age, convinced the boss he was sixteen.”

“How industrious,” Sam remarked dryly.

“Not really. It was hard work. I think he regretted it right away.”

“Didn’t think the plan through,” Sam concluded. “Probably never thought it would actually fly.”

“That seems likely,” Steve laughed. “But yeah, languages were never his thing.”

“Even in Europe?” Sam asked, borrowing Steve’s favorite euphemism for World War Two.

“Even in Europe,” Steve repeated. His smile had faded somewhat, and his voice had grown soft and nostalgic. “I mean, he spoke enough French, German, and Italian to get by — we all did. And Gabe kind of took it upon himself to teach any of the squad who wanted to improve their skills. He got me pretty much fluent in German and French, but Bucky was hopeless.”

“Huh,” said Sam.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. He drew a deep breath, and Sam could practically hear him coming back into the 21st century. “So it bugged me for a while, that he could speak another language. Because I knew he couldn’t learn it on his own. I knew it was... programming,” he finished bitterly.

Sam nodded. He opened his mouth to reply, but then he realized he had nothing to say.

“And it’s not just Russian,” Steve went on suddenly.

“It’s not?”

“No. French, Italian, Spanish, German. Mandarin, too. And he’s got at least a passing proficiency in Polish, Romanian, Portuguese, and Cantonese.”

“Jesus,” Sam murmured.

“There might be more, I don’t know,” Steve said quietly, shaking his head. “He, uh, got pretty upset when he was doing the tests, so we had to stop.”

Sam swallowed hard. “Because he doesn’t know how he knows them, either.”

“Yeah,” said Steve tightly.

“Jesus,” Sam said again.

“You boys need another drink?” Natasha trilled suddenly.

Sam glanced up, startled to see her poking her head out of the kitchen doorway. “No,” he replied. “We’re fine.”

She surveyed them closely, then said something in Russian over her shoulder. Bucky replied, and a moment later he was in the living room, folding Sam’s legs up to make room for himself on the couch between them.

“What are you doing?” Steve asked, suspicious.

“Tasha said you were being mopey,” Bucky replied carelessly, stretching out and resting his feet on the coffee table.

“We were not—” Steve began.

“Yes, we were,” Sam interrupted. He leaned over and kissed Bucky’s cheek, which was still mostly smooth from shaving that morning. “Thanks, babe.”

“Any time.” Bucky turned his head to kiss Sam properly, then twisted around and did the same for Steve.

“Better?” he asked when they’d parted.

“Better,” Steve affirmed with a smile, and Sam nodded.

“Good,” said Bucky briskly, getting to his feet. “Now drink up. Nat and I aren’t actually sure how dinner’s going to turn out, so being drunk might help.”

He headed back to the kitchen, and Sam fell against Steve’s chest, laughing helplessly.


	2. A Language Of Its Own

“Morning, doll, sweetheart,” Bucky mumbled when he entered the kitchen. “Fly Boy, can you get me a... thing?”

Sam reached for a mug and poured Bucky a coffee. “Here you go, babe.”

“Thanks. And, hey, Stevie, do we have any of that... stuff left?”

“Yep,” Steve replied, getting the Nutella down from a cupboard and setting it beside the bread box.

“You guys are too good to me,” Bucky yawned.

“Nah,” said Steve, pouring himself more coffee. “We just speak your language, Buck.”

* * *

For Sam, it was simple: Bucky was _baby_ or _babe_ , and so was Steve. He threw in a _honey_ every once in a while for variety, and _dear_ if he was teasing in public, especially around the team.

Steve, meanwhile, didn’t really use pet names at all. Sam was Sam, Bucky was Bucky or Buck and, occasionally, _jerk_. And that was about it.

But Bucky...

Bucky’s system of pet names was complex, with its own internal structures and logic. Certain rules applied all the time (Steve was _Stevie_ , Sam was _Fly Boy_ ), but other rules changed depending on circumstance and mood. For example, Steve became _punk_ if Bucky was annoyed or exasperated with him — this usually happened when Steve did something stupid or risky in the field, or if he bought diet anything at the grocery store.

But Steve was also _punk_ in the bedroom sometimes, on those nights when he needed managing, when he didn’t want to give orders anymore. He trusted Bucky and, eventually, Sam to push him around a little, hold him down. Bucky would force him to his knees in front of Sam and say something rough like, _Open wide, punk, let him give it to you and make it good for him_ , and Steve’s blue eyes shining up at Sam in gratitude as he swallowed his cock was almost too much for Sam to take.

When Bucky wanted to be sweet, Steve was _doll_ and Sam was _sweetheart_. After Steve came on those rough nights, when he broke and let Sam and Bucky take care of him and put him to bed, he was always _doll_. And when it was just the three of them, _doll_ and _sweetheart_ were Bucky’s favorite names. Sam was continually impressed that Bucky never got them mixed up.

 _Birdie_ and _sweet cheeks_ were reserved for special occasions, namely when Bucky was being a brat, which happened surprisingly — or maybe not surprisingly — often. Tony and Rhodey found it exceptionally amusing when it happened in the field. Once, desperate for a little payback, Steve referred to Bucky as _cupcake_ for an entire mission (“Cupcake! You take down that sniper, and that’s an order!”) and Rhodes laughed so hard he had to pop his faceplate to get some air.

After that mission, Bucky crossed his arms over his chest and sullenly promised he’d “stick to official call signs in the field. You punk-ass son of a bitch, Sir.”

Of course, this brought about its own set of challenges.

Most of the team already had names they preferred — Iron Man, War Machine, Black Widow, Hawkeye, Scarlet Witch — so it was just a matter of getting used to answering to them. Vision and Thor made it really simple and said they didn’t want any other names. Steve’s was easy; everybody pretty much called him Captain or Cap anyway. And Sam was used to answering to Falcon, so that was no trouble.

But Bucky...

“No,” Steve said flatly, when Bucky suggested it.

“What do you mean, _no_? It’s cool. Literally. Fly Boy, back me up here.”

Sam raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “This is between you and your superior officer, babe, I’m not getting involved.”

“Fair enough. But Stevie, come on, it’s my name.”

“No, it isn’t, Buck. It’s what—” Steve cut himself off abruptly.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “You can say HYDRA, Steve, I’m not going to freak out.”

“Okay. HYDRA,” Steve said pointedly. “It’s what they called you.”

“No,” Bucky corrected him in a low voice. “They didn’t. They called me the Asset or Soldat. Sometimes just _it_.”

Sam winced. “God, Bucky.”

“It’s all right, sweetheart,” Bucky murmured before turning back to Steve. “My point is they didn’t call me the Winter Soldier. That was just something a bunch of spies came up with.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed, his nostrils flared. “So you want to go with what a bunch of spies decided is your name?”

“No,” Bucky replied tightly. “I’m taking that name and making it my own.”

Steve expelled a short breath. “Why don’t we just call you Sarge, like we used—”

“Christ, Stevie,” Bucky exploded, “are you even listening to me? That’s not who I am anymore. Why can’t you just let me have this?”

He glared at Steve, and Steve glared right back. After a tense, silent moment, Sam took a deep breath and stepped forward.

“Bucky’s right, baby.”

“I thought you weren’t getting involved, Sam,” Steve snapped, not taking his eyes off Bucky.

“Yeah, well, you—” Sam began, but he changed direction, so he didn’t sound overly accusatory. “We’ve got no business telling Bucky what he should or shouldn’t call himself.”

Steve glanced at him and back at Bucky. His face changed all at once. “Oh, God. I’m doing the same thing they did.”

“No, doll,” said Bucky, laying a hand on Steve’s arm.

Steve shook his head, looking horrified. “I am.”

“No,” Sam echoed. “You’re acting from a place of love, that’s totally different.”

Bucky nodded. “Listen to the counselor, Stevie.”

Steve smiled faintly at Sam, then went to Bucky, folding himself into his arms. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled against Bucky’s neck.

“I know,” said Bucky, stroking his back. “And I know that name upsets you, but I need it. Can you see that?”

Steve sighed and pulled away. “Yeah,” he said finally. “I can. If you want your call sign to be...” He swallowed hard. “We’ll call you Winter.”

“Thank you,” Bucky said in a low, earnest voice. Then he punched Steve’s shoulder. “Punk.”

Steve punched Bucky back. “Jerk.”

Sam shook his head. “Idiots.”


	3. The Grand Deeds Of Great Men

Every Wednesday, Bucky disappeared.

Sam didn’t think much of it at first. He assumed Bucky had an appointment with Stark or Dr. Cho, or maybe with one of the counselors that Natasha and Sam had vetted for him. But Bucky would be gone for the better part of the day, and he always came back relaxed and in a more-or-less good mood, which just didn’t add up when it came to Bucky and doctors.

Bucky always went straight for the shower when he got home, too, which was odd. One Wednesday evening, Sam just happened to be doing laundry, so he picked up Bucky’s discarded shirt and noticed a faint perfume clinging to the fabric. Other times, Bucky brought back the smell of sweat and sawdust, and once, his shirt and pants were completely ruined by grease stains and long streaks of motor oil.

“Did you get a job?” Sam asked him finally, when he was about to head out one Wednesday morning.

“No,” Bucky replied, and he winked. “I’m a slacker, you know that.”

“But—” Sam began, but Bucky kissed him.

“Got to go,” he said. “Say hi to Steve for me when he gets back.”

“Of course,” Sam answered automatically.

He watched from the window, dazed, as Bucky headed down the front steps and crossed the street. A few seconds later, he was gone.

* * *

Steve just shrugged when Sam asked him later about Bucky’s weekly disappearances.

“He says there’s something he has to do,” he said nonchalantly. “Why? Is it bothering you?”

“No,” Sam lied. “I’m just a little curious, I guess.”

Steve smiled. “Don’t worry about it, I’m sure he’s fine. Besides, I figure the guy deserves to have some secrets, so I’m just leaving it alone.”

Sam nodded. That was a completely reasonable decision. If Steve could leave it alone, Sam decided he could, too. There was no need to do anything rash.

* * *

Sam did something rash.

The following Wednesday, ignoring the voice in his head that told him he was being ridiculous, Sam left via the back door a few seconds after Bucky did. He trailed Bucky all the way downtown to the train station, barely managing to keep an eye on him in the crush of people.

When Bucky boarded a train, Sam got on a few paces behind him and settled near the back of the car, glancing up over his newspaper every now and then to check that Bucky was still there. After a minute Bucky pulled his phone out of his pocket, and Sam had a flash of panic — what if Bucky called him? — but instead, he started playing a game that looked an awful lot like Candy Crush. Sam blinked, stunned. More secrets, he thought stupidly.

He got off in Queens when Bucky did, but Bucky melted into the crowd almost instantly. Sam fought his way through the noisy herd of commuters and managed to get out of the station. There, he stood on the sidewalk for almost two minutes, scanning every face for one that looked familiar. Finally, he glimpsed Bucky getting on a bus across the street. Sam raced after him, throwing his sunglasses on and pulling his ball cap low.

But when he got on the bus, Bucky was nowhere in sight.

The bus started moving, and Sam paused, weighing his options. He’d have to get off at the next stop and head back to the train station, but Bucky would be long gone by now. With a sigh, Sam sank into a seat, resigned to having lost Bucky, ashamed of trying to follow him in the first place, and now, stuck in an unfamiliar part of Queens.

He was peering out the window, looking for something he might recognize, so he didn’t notice that anyone had taken the seat next to him until the man spoke.

“Sometimes, I think you like doing things the hard way.”

Sam turned so fast he felt a pinch in his neck. “Bucky,” he breathed, torn between contrition and relief.

Bucky’s arms were folded across his chest, his metal hand hidden by a black leather glove. “You know, you could have just asked,” he said in smug, flat tone.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said quickly.

“I know.” Bucky brushed a kiss against his lips as he reached up to pull the cord. “Come on, Fly Boy, we’ve got to go. Have to double back a bit.”

“Why?” Sam asked, but Bucky had already taken his hand and was leading them towards the back door.

“You made me late,” Bucky explained once they’d reached the street. “I had to wait for you to see me before I could get on the bus.”

“Wait?” Sam repeated. “How long did you know I was following you?”

Bucky just raised an eyebrow at him.

“Oh,” Sam said, feeling his shame wash over him again. “So, uh, Bucky? Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, sweetheart, anything.”

“Where do you go on Wednesdays?”

Bucky squeezed Sam’s hand. “On Wednesdays, I go to see Nadia.”

* * *

When a beautiful woman in her early 30s opened the door, Sam’s heart sank a little. Especially when she smiled at Bucky like she knew him, disregarding Sam’s presence entirely.

“James,” she said fondly. “I was worried.”

“Sorry, Karina,” Bucky replied, leaning in to kiss both her cheeks. “That’s what you get for living in Queens.”

“Ever the Brooklynite,” she sighed, turning to Sam at last. “You must be Sam. James said you might be tagging along today.”

As he shook Karina’s hand, Sam sent a sidelong glance at Bucky, who seemed to be suppressing a grin. “Oh he did, did he?”

Karina nodded. “Come on in.”

She led them through the door and into the front room, where an old woman sat on a flowery couch, reading a book. From the buxom lady pirate on the cover, Sam judged it to be a Harlequin. She didn’t look up when the three of them entered the room.

“Babushka, James is here,” Karina announced, loudly and clearly.

“James,” the old woman cried with a bright, not-quite-all-there grin. She laid aside her book and ran a hand through her short black hair. “Is it Wednesday again already?”

“It is, Nadia,” said Bucky, crossing the room to kiss both her cheeks as well. He clutched her hands as he pulled back. “And this is my friend, Sam. Remember I told you he might be coming with me today?”

Her smile faltered. “Sam? James, I don’t—”

“It’s all right, Baba,” Karina said soothingly. She crossed the room and picked up a leather-bound planner. “You asked me to write it down for you in your day book. See? Right here,” she added, passing it over.

Nadia beamed down at the note. “Of course,” she said, turning the smile on Sam. “How are you, my dear?”

“Just fine, Ma’am,” Sam replied.

“Please,” Nadia scoffed, “spare me the formalities, you’ll make me feel old.”

Sam grinned and nodded. “Okay, then.”

Bucky gestured at her day book. “What have you got for me today, Nadia?” he asked.

She squinted down at the page until Karina helpfully handed her a pair of glasses.

“Thank you, dear,” Nadia mumbled. She looked up at Bucky seriously. “The pear tree. It’s been dropping fruit for some time now, and there are wasps everywhere. I’m so afraid of them, I can’t even bring myself to sit out on the deck anymore.”

Bucky nodded. “What a shame.”

“ _Such_ a shame,” Nadia agreed, her Eastern European accent becoming heavier with the emphasis. “So I need you to gather up the fallen pears and pick any that are left on the tree.”

“Consider it done,” Bucky told her. “Anything else? You need me to take another look at your car, Rina, make sure she’s still running smooth?”

The younger woman jerked her head up, startled, but she smiled a second later. “That’d be great, James, thanks.”

“No problem,” Bucky said. “Come on, Sam, let’s get to work.”

Nadia didn’t seem to notice them leaving — she reminded Sam of his great aunt, whose mental clarity sort of came and went — but when they got to the backyard, the pear tree was swarming with wasps, just like she’d told them.

“Yikes,” said Sam.

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed.  “I knew it was only a matter of time before she asked me to do this.”

He headed across the small yard to a shed and grabbed two buckets. Together, he and Sam gathered up the fallen pears, most of them rotten all the way through, and tossed them into the composter. Sam only got stung once, and seeing Bucky crush the wasp into powder between his metal fingers in retaliation was almost worth the pain.

When they were finished, Bucky took a ladder out of the garage and started picking the few pears on the tree that were still good. Sam held the ladder steady for him, and not being able to see Bucky’s face gave him the courage he needed to ask the all-important question.

“So, how do you know Nadia?”

Above him, Sam thought he heard Bucky sigh. But the sound could have just as easily been the wind in the leaves, or a car passing on the quiet street.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Sam said, when Bucky didn’t reply.

“No, I should,” Bucky protested. “Nadia’s, uh...” He trailed off as he climbed down the ladder.  

“A friend?” Sam suggested.

“Now, yeah, I guess,” Bucky replied. “But before that...” He sighed and looked off at the horizon. “In 1983, I killed her son,” he said all at once.

“Oh,” Sam breathed, after a long silence broken only by birdsong.

“Yeah,” Bucky said shortly. He wouldn’t look at Sam. “He was 25, rising through the Soviet ranks in Afghanistan. He was going to be somebody, and HYDRA knew it.”

“Oh,” Sam said again.

“He was late for a rendezvous,” Bucky narrated after a brief pause. His voice was flat and mechanical, like he was giving a routine mission report. “I staked out the meeting place for a day and a half. When he didn’t show up, I tried to find him. Took me almost 72 hours, but I did it. He’d been injured, gotten lost in the desert, separated from his squad. He was alone, dehydrated, delirious. Very near death. All I had to do was wait.”

Sam swallowed hard around the lump in his throat. Despite the warm sun overhead, he was chilled to the core. But he didn’t dare interrupt.

“My handlers didn’t agree,” Bucky continued. “They wanted him alive, so they could make an example of him. They wanted me to revive him, and then torture and kill him.”

“Jesus,” Sam murmured before he could stop himself.

“I didn’t listen to them,” said Bucky, but he didn’t sound proud or moved by this detail. Like everything else, it was just a fact. “The longer I was out of the ice, the easier it was to—”

Bucky stopped. He cleared his throat, then continued, his eyes still far from Sam, unfocused.

“In any case, he thought I was his commanding officer. I let him think that. He begged me to let him die with dignity. Gave me a letter to give to his mother, asked me to take care of her. I said I would, and then I put him out of his misery.”

“Bucky,” Sam began, but Bucky kept talking.

“The next time they thawed me out, the letter was gone, and I didn’t even miss it. I didn’t remember any of it until last year. When Stark took the fail-safes out of my arm, it started coming back. Pierce put them in because of what I did, that day in the desert. What I did to Nadia’s son. To Karina’s uncle.

“They don’t know who I am. They think I’m— well, I don’t know what they think,” Bucky concluded, with the ghost of a smile. “Just the handyman, I guess.”

“Bucky, I’m sorry,” Sam mumbled.

Bucky looked up at him, into his eyes for the first time since he’d started telling the story, and for a second, he looked puzzled by Sam’s presence, like he’d forgotten Sam was there. Then he glanced down at the basket of pears under his arm, and the spell broke. The sun seemed hot again. A bird started singing.

“It’s not your fault, sweetheart,” Bucky said at last, idly flicking a wasp away from the pears.

“It’s not yours, either,” Sam reminded him.

“I know,” replied Bucky, but it didn’t sound like he believed it.

“You did the best you could in an impossible situation,” Sam went on. “And, for what it’s worth, I think you’re a pretty big damn hero for keeping your promise after all these years.”

Bucky grimaced and shook his head. “But Sam,” he said, somewhat brokenly. “I wouldn’t need to if—”

Sam stepped forward, taking the basket from Bucky and setting it on the ground, and wrapped his arms around him. Bucky seemed to be shaking slightly, and Sam realized he was, too. Sam ran his fingers through Bucky’s hair and down his back, making quiet, soothing noises.

They stayed that way, while the wasps buzzed around them, until Bucky drew a deep, shuddering breath. Sam loosened his hold, pulling back just enough to give Bucky a soft and lingering kiss.

“I love you,” he said when they parted.

Bucky shook his head again. “Find that kind of hard to believe. After everything I’ve—”

“Believe it,” Sam told him sternly.

He took Bucky’s damp face in his hands and kissed him again, more deeply this time. Bucky dropped his hands to Sam’s hips, pulling him even closer, like he couldn’t bear there being any distance between them.

A sudden sound made them turn. It was the back door, opening and banging shut behind Karina, who was heading their way with a tray of cookies and lemonade. She stopped dead in her tracks, though, at the sight of them tangled up in each other’s arms.

Bucky took a full step back. “Uh, we were just—” he began, and then he shrugged. “Well, you saw.”

“Yeah,” she said slowly. She looked to Sam. “So, you’re that kind of friend.”

“I am,” Sam said, in the sort of tone that asked if she was going to make a big deal out of it.

To his surprise, Karina laughed. “Oh, thank God.”

“Why?” Bucky asked, reaching over for a glass of lemonade.

“Because my grandmother sent me out here with the instructions that I was supposed to ask you out, James,” she replied, shaking her head. “I’ve been telling her for weeks that I have a girlfriend, but she keeps forgetting.”

Sam laughed as well, as he took a cookie off the platter. “Well,” he said, “everything works out, then.”

Bucky smiled at him softly. “Yeah, I guess it really does.”


	4. The Smallest Of Gestures

Being a superhero was great and all, but Sam was glad that he’d decided to keep his day job. The VA gave him somewhere to go when he just wanted to be Sam Wilson, not Sam Wilson: Pararescue, or Sam Wilson: Falcon, or even Sam Wilson: Boyfriend. His job was his; it was something that none of the Avengers (or his boyfriends for that matter) could do as well as Sam could. Because, as much as he knew that taking down HYDRA was helpful for the world at large, Sam lived for those moments when he could help someone without the wings, when he could say something and see that he was making a difference, maybe even saving a life.

In short, Sam loved his job.

That said, he was not currently loving the three-day conference in LA that his boss had roped him into attending. Sam hated being so far away from home, from Steve and from Bucky; he hated the California climate, which had clearly not gotten the memo about it being almost winter; and, most of all, he hated the stuffed shirt academics that he always had to talk to at these sorts of events.

The panel that morning had been particularly dull, and now he was stuck in the only workshop that wasn’t already full when he registered: _Common Strategies for Couple’s Counseling_. It was his own fault for leaving his registration to the last minute, as Steve had so helpfully reminded him a few nights ago. (“Says the guy who’s always late,” Sam had retorted, and Bucky had snickered without looking up from his Candy Crush game.)

Sam had no interest in couple’s counseling, but taking a siesta in the hotel room apparently wasn’t an option, so he went, thinking that maybe he could salvage something from it — his queer clients did like to talk to him about relationship stuff, after all, and Sam was all about lifelong learning.

This, though — this was bad. The workshop facilitator, Tanya, had asked them to make a list of little things their spouses did to show their love, and Sam had nothing.

“Okay, so, let’s go around the room and share what we have written,” Tanya said, much too soon. “Sam, why don’t you start? Tell us about James.”

Sam looked down at the blank piece of paper in his hands with alarm. Everyone was looking at him, waiting. He felt like the only kid in the class who hadn’t done his homework, and he was half-tempted to read from the page of the person beside him.

“Uh,” he said finally. “I didn’t write anything down.”

Tanya’s smile faltered a little before she hitched it back up. “Oh. Okay. Why not?”

Sam could see the other people in the group exchanging sympathetic glances; he tried without success to ignore them. “I couldn’t think of anything,” he lied.

Tanya just nodded. “Okay,” she said again. “I understand. It’s hard to think on the spot.”

She asked someone else instead, and Sam breathed a little sigh of relief.

The truth was that Bucky did plenty of things to show his love, but a lot of them involved sex or shooting people who were about to shoot Sam, so he didn’t think those counted, not for this crowd, anyway. Sam probably could have borrowed some of Steve’s actions — Steve did more of the sweet, romantic-y type things that Tanya was probably looking for — but at this moment, he was drawing a blank. He tried to think, to remember the last time the three of them had done something romantic together. They’d made plans to go out for Valentine’s Day, but had ended up raiding a HYDRA lab and collapsing into bed early the following morning, too tired to even know their own names.

Come to think of it, that was how a lot of their weekends went. Maybe the romance was truly dead.

But, as Sam listened to Trevor talk about how Linh made him lemon squares every Christmas, even though she hated them, and how Taylor planned a surprise birthday party every year for Angela, Sam realized that shooting things and big romantic gestures weren’t his only options.

He thought about how Steve picked him up at work every night the week that his car was in the shop. He thought about how Bucky always offered to wash the pan he cooked scrambled eggs in, since Sam couldn’t stand the way soggy egg pieces felt in the dishwater. He remembered the anniversary of Riley’s death, how Steve and Bucky helped him pick out flowers for the grave, held his hand as he called Riley’s mother like he did every year. He thought about his own mother, asking after Bucky every chance she could, even though she still hadn't officially met him yet, and how polite Steve was to her every single time they spoke.

While Marty was telling the group about Chris’s penchant for chocolate, Sam picked up his pen and started a list of his own.


	5. Short, Shallow Gasps

Sam woke up the same way he always did, with Bucky’s left arm around his chest and Steve’s hand on his hip. He sighed and tried to sink deeper into their hold, thinking how lovely it would be to drop right back off to sleep.

After a moment, however, he realized that Bucky was squirming behind him, ever so slightly. Sam raised his hands to stroke Bucky’s arm, thinking maybe he was dreaming, but at the motion, Bucky loosened his grip.

“You awake, sweetheart?” he breathed.

“Yeah, baby, I’m awake.”

Bucky’s squirming became more pronounced, deliberate. He pulled Sam close and kissed the skin under Sam’s ear, sending a delicious shiver down his spine. Sam could suddenly feel Bucky against his ass, his cock hard and feverishly hot, even through their clothes. He smiled and pushed back, letting Bucky grind up against him for a moment before he turned in his hold and kissed him. He was surprised to find that Bucky tasted like toothpaste.

“Obviously you are, too,” Sam said, when they parted.

Bucky hummed in his ear. “Steve’s fault.”

“Little bit,” Steve admitted from behind Bucky. “Good morning, Sam.”

Sam chuckled and lifted himself up at the same time Steve did. They kissed over Bucky’s right shoulder, just inches away from his face. Sam had a feeling Steve was putting on a show; he kept nibbling on Sam’s lower lip, pulling back to let Bucky see his teeth and tongue. Not that Sam minded — he was hard and squirming now, too, frustrated at the layers of clothing between him and Bucky.

Bucky made a small sound of longing, and his metal hand dropped to knead Sam’s ass just the way Sam liked it. Sam moaned a little and broke off from kissing Steve to push Bucky on to his back between them. He ran his hands down Bucky’s body, pulling his pants off in one motion. Bucky’s cock sprang up, suddenly free, and Sam’s mouth watered at the sight of it so hard and already leaking.

“Poor baby,” he murmured. “Let us take care of you.”

He sent Steve a look that told him what to do, and Steve smiled as he leaned in to kiss Bucky’s mouth, all tenderness now, his hand coming up to caress Bucky’s bare chest. Sam watched them a moment — they really were beautiful together — before he bent his head and licked the tip of Bucky’s cock. Bucky’s hips surged up at the contact, and Sam took him into his mouth, as deep as he could, since Bucky had clearly been teased enough.

Bucky sighed into Steve’s mouth as Sam settled between his legs, fighting off the temptation to writhe and rub his own erection against the bedspread. To distract himself, he wet one finger and ghosted it along Bucky’s perineum, eliciting that small, surprised gasp that Sam never got tired of hearing.

“That’s so good, sweetheart,” Bucky mumbled. Sam looked up to see Steve kissing Bucky’s jawline, but his hand had drifted into his own boxers.

“Nuh huh,” Sam said around Bucky’s cock, exaggerating the syllables to make Bucky tremble at the vibration. “Keep your hands on Bucky, nowhere else.”

Steve smirked at him. He took his hand out of his boxers but brushed his fingers against Sam’s ear instead. Sam twitched at the shivery sensation, but his mouth was already full again, so he just glared playfully. After a minute, Steve’s touches turned tender; he cupped Sam’s jaw and traced his stretched, swollen lips. Sam hummed and closed his eyes again, breathing in the combination of their scents as he worked Bucky’s cock, hollowing his cheeks to give Bucky that hot, tight feeling that Sam knew he couldn’t resist.

The muscles in Bucky’s thigh and abdomen clenched, and he came with a quiet groan, his metal hand flashing in and out of a fist beside Sam’s face. Sam swallowed and sucked him through the aftershocks, and, when he’d relaxed, Sam lifted his head and switched to sucking on Bucky’s silver fingers. Bucky sighed contentedly as Sam ran his tongue over the plates of his palm and up to his wrist. He laid kisses all the way to Bucky’s scars and straddled his waist.

“Hi,” Bucky said, sounding dazed but happy. It was all he could say before Sam bent to kiss him, deep and dirty, happy to let his suppressed arousal flow into Bucky’s languid mouth.

Steve had disappeared, but Sam felt the bed dip behind him and knew he hadn’t gone far, probably just far enough to drop his boxers into the hamper, since he was a bit of stickler about clothes on the floor. Sam turned his head to check, but right then Bucky reached down to give Sam’s cock a friendly squeeze, and Steve ran his hand along Sam’s back, tugging at his pyjama bottoms. Sam knew what Steve was asking for, and he was completely on board, so he lifted one leg, then the other, letting Steve divest him of his pants.

Once fully naked, Sam pushed back helpfully, steadying himself with his hands on Bucky's shoulders. Steve took his hand away, and when it returned, it was wet with lube and snaking between Sam’s legs. Sam made an involuntary noise and thrust forward into Bucky’s fist when Steve’s slick fingers rubbed at his balls and that sensitive place just behind them.

“God, Sam,” Steve mumbled, and Sam was distracted by the feel of his breath at the cleft of his ass. “Can I lick you?”

Sam paused, tensing suddenly. That wasn’t really his thing, though once in a while it could be nice. He glanced up at Bucky, but Bucky just shrugged.

“Okay. A little,” Sam said finally.

Almost at once Steve spread him open and pressed his tongue flat against his hole. He didn’t do any more than that, and Sam tried to get used to the strange, warm sensation. A minute later, Steve took his mouth away and gently slid one wet finger inside. After a few teasing thrusts, Steve crooked his finger slightly, nudging Sam’s prostate. Immediately the world went white around the edges, and Sam pushed back, since this was familiar, this was good.

Steve carried on like that until Sam was panting, then he added a second finger and licked delicately around them. The hot, feathery touch was enough to make Sam moan into Bucky’s neck.

“Feel good, sweetheart?” Bucky crooned in his ear.

Sam could only nod. Steve licked him and touched his prostate again, making Sam’s cock jump in Bucky’s hand — at some point Bucky must have grabbed the lube because it was slippery and wonderful, though Bucky’s grip was tight enough to keep him from coming on the spot. Still, Sam rolled his hips back, seeking more.

“You want me?” Steve asked, his voice husky. “Because we can just do it like this if—”

“Fuck me,” Sam ordered, too far gone to be polite about it.

Steve chuckled and pulled back. “Yes, Sir.”

While he busied himself with a condom and lube, Bucky kissed Sam some more. “I love it when you boss him around,” he murmured against Sam’s lips.

“Like you never do,” Sam replied, more than a little breathless.

Bucky hummed in agreement. “Nothing like topping from the bottom, is there?”

Sam didn’t get a chance to reply, because Steve was back, opening him up again and pressing the blunt head of his cock in. It felt too big, it always felt too big at first, but then he found the right angle, and the hard heat of Steve’s cock against Sam’s prostate was more intense than a touch from any finger. Sam squeezed his eyes shut as the pleasure rolled through him in waves, as Steve started to move in deeper.

It was different from being fucked by Bucky, always had been. Steve knew his strength, but he wasn’t as afraid of it; he was slow and careful, but his bruisingly tight grip on Sam’s hip betrayed his impatience, his need. He bottomed out after a series of short, shallow thrusts, and Sam held up a hand to say he needed a minute. Steve stopped right away, fully inside, and Sam just lingered in the sweet, quiet ache of being so full.

“Fuck, you feel good,” Steve whispered eventually, breathing harshly on his neck. “Fuck, Sam.”

“I think that’s the general idea,” Sam quipped.

Bucky grinned at his smartass remark. “You good, birdie?”

Sam nodded and glanced over his shoulder at Steve. “I’m good,” he said, just to be clear.

Sam grounded himself in Bucky’s eyes and focused on his breath as Steve started to fuck him in earnest, dragging his dick nearly all the way out before sliding back in, letting Sam feel the hot, steady length again and again. Bucky was still gripping Sam’s cock, his gaze flicking down every now and then like he couldn’t help looking. Sam gave him a small nod, and Bucky started to stroke him, running his thumb over the tip. Sam let himself go boneless, trusting Bucky and Steve to take his weight.

Bucky kissed the moan out of his mouth when Steve hit his prostate one more time, hard enough to make him lose it. He hung his head and gave it up, the dizzying rush starting low in his belly and speeding outwards as his cock spilled over into Bucky’s fist, smearing his belly. Sam squeezed his eyes shut as everything buzzed out, his brain pure static.

He came back to himself when Steve moaned, quiet but intense. Sam felt his ass clenching around Steve, his thighs shaking, but he rode the wave of sensation, cresting just enough to be almost unbearable before fading away again. Sam let Bucky hold him up so Steve could give him a few more hard, long strokes until he finished, chanting Sam and Bucky’s names against Sam’s skin like a sacred spell.

Bucky’s metal arm took the weight, keeping Sam from being sandwiched when Steve pulled out a minute later and slumped forward, his breath warm and moist on Sam’s neck.

“God,” Steve said at length.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed.

He squirmed, and Steve took the hint, pushing himself off Sam and out of bed. Bucky slowly lowered his arm, letting Sam down gently. Metal fingers brushed Sam’s ear, his neck, his shoulder. The touch made Sam shiver and sigh.

“Tell me what I did to deserve this, so I can do it again sometime,” he mumbled into Bucky’s chest.

Bucky’s laugh was a rumble against his cheek. “That takes the fun out of making you guess, though.”

The bed dipped, signalling Steve’s return. He slotted himself in beside Bucky, splaying out until Bucky was practically buried under them.

“Nobody said I was dating octopuses,” Bucky complained after a moment, his voice muffled by Steve’s hair.

“Octopi,” Steve corrected him.

Sam glanced up just in time to see Bucky rolling his eyes. “Trust me, Stevie, it’s octopuses.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’m the language guy. Bet you don’t know how to say octopus in Cantonese, either.”

“No,” said Steve, and he pushed up, looking interested. “How do you say it?”

Bucky blinked. “Damn,” he muttered. “Didn’t think you’d call me on that.”

Sam chuckled and rolled down to take his place at Bucky’s side. “That settles it,” he said, pulling Bucky’s arm around him like a seatbelt. “All this talk about seafood’s making me hungry. Today’s the day you’re both trying sushi.”

Steve groaned. “For breakfast?”

“No, you doofus,” Sam laughed. “Let’s start with pancakes, work our way up to sushi.”

“If we make you pancakes, can we get out of eating raw fish?” Bucky asked.

Sam considered this. “Would you have to get out of bed?”

“Probably,” said Steve.

“In that case, no.”

“Damn,” said Bucky again, but he snuggled up to Sam’s back. “Then I guess I’m okay with sushi for dinner.”

Steve’s hand stretched across to settle on Sam’s hip. “Me, too.”

“Me, three,” Sam sighed.

He smiled and closed his eyes, surrounded by the safety and warmth of their embrace as he drifted back to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come say hi on [Tumblr](http://mrsdawnaway.tumblr.com) if you like!


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